by Traci E Hall
Catherine relaxed her body as well as her mind. She knew how to swim. When caught in a current, the first rule was not to panic.
She floated, swept along at dizzying speeds, hearing Gaston calling for her.
Jacques.
Eleanor and Mamie.
But it was Payen she saw.
The man, braced on an overhanging tree branch at the curve ahead, tossed down a rope. “Catherine!”
Catherine would have one chance to catch the rope and hold on. Conserving her energy, Catherine looked up, waited, and then shot her hand out of the water, clutching the knotted rope.
Using the last of her strength, she fought the pull of the current and lifted her other arm out of the water. She gripped the rope with both hands.
Payen reached down and covered Catherine’s hands. The limb cracked, threatening to give under their combined weight.
“I’m going to pull you back,” Payen shouted.
Catherine’s arms were numb as Payen slowly, carefully maneuvered her until they reached the sturdier fork in the tree. Suddenly, Payen yanked her all the way from the frigid, filthy, raging water.
The branch ahead snapped, broke, and fell into the current.
Payen tucked her against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. She rested against him as he leaned on the trunk.
The water churned below.
“We have to wait here for it to recede.” He held her hands between his, rubbing them. He kissed her knuckles, the top of her head.
She nodded, shivering, unable to speak.
They sat in silence, stunned by the destruction swirling below. The tree swayed, but the roots held firm.
The once pretty valley was ravaged with teeming water. The crusaders who reached higher ground huddled on the upper slopes.
“We lost everything.” She tasted mud.
Payen rested his chin on her head. “Not everything.”
She was too tired to argue.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I remembered not to panic. Asked myself what you would do and stopped reacting. That’s what I do, you know. I rush forward without thinking and end up in predicaments I’m not prepared for.”
“It’s what I love about you.” Payen tightened his hold on her. “You are so passionate. You make no plan, and yet it somehow works out.”
Catherine warmed. Would he really wait for her? She just had to get the necklace to Jerusalem.
The necklace. Her hand flew to her throat, and she heaved a sigh of relief to find the chain and pendant tucked beneath her tunic. To have come so far and not atone for her sin would be devastating.
“If it had flooded at night while we were sleeping, we all would have died.” Catherine rested her head on Payen’s shoulder.
“Was it part of your guard training to look for gloom?” Payen chuckled, nuzzling her neck.
Catherine looked over her shoulder at Payen, overwhelmed by her love for this man. How could he want her? “I am no prize. I like traveling and adventures. I might never want to settle down.”
Payen nodded, turning her face so he could claim her lips. “You obviously need me to save you.”
“I do not.”
“We need to get out of this tree before we argue over our next adventure,” Payen said. “When the water is slow enough, I can get down, catch you, and we can walk across together until we reach the bank.”
“Well done,” King Louis announced, clasping Payen’s arm when he and Catherine arrived safely. “Although I worried the tree might take you both down the current.” The king looked from Catherine to Payen, concern in his eyes. “This was not how I imagined our celebration of Christ’s birth. I’ve prayed about it, and I think God wanted to cleanse the area of heathen blood. This is a holy place. The Turks dared to fight Christian soldiers and lost.”
The rains had finally stopped, allowing the crusaders to have a smoking fire where they attempted to dry their clothing. A majority of the tents were ruined. However, they’d moved the tents of the royals and nobles in time to save them.
Payen glanced at Catherine, who quietly studied the devastation. She had an arm around Gaston’s shoulders, Jacques on her other side. She exuded beauty, despite the large bruise on her cheek, the welt on her forehead, and the gash on her elbow. She was alive. Payen sighed.
“Have you counted our losses yet?” Payen looked at Louis, who took personal responsibility for each soul in his caravan.
“Three men. About a dozen horses. A good portion of the supplies we bought from the Greek ships.” Louis stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “We will have to make the mountain trek on limited provisions, but once we reach Laodicea, we will be able to replenish our stores.”
Payen heard the slightest tremor in Louis’s voice.
“We will make it so,” Payen replied, determined to assist his friend in remaining strong against self-doubt.
“And did you lose your tent and goods?”
“Oui. But I can get funds in Laodicea.”
“Money is no issue. I can loan you a small amount. I imagine most of the army will require clothes and food.” He gestured toward the sputtering fire. “The sooner we leave the better.”
“As always, you think of everyone.”
“I am king. It is my duty.” Louis cleared his throat. “Their loss is mine.”
“I will start organizing crews to search for anything worth salvaging. Will we leave the valley before nightfall?”
“The captain thinks we should camp in the village—fish and eat what we catch and travel on full stomachs in the morning. Odo feels we need to leave Ephesus and head away from the water toward the mountains now. Thierry believes we could stay here one more night and leave at dawn.”
One of the things Payen most respected about King Louis was his ability to listen to all of his advisors.
“What do you think, Payen?”
He considered. “I agree with the captain. Full stomachs go a long way toward people’s happiness. Even though it means a longer trek to the mountains in the morning, it is not by much.”
Louis pursed his lips and nodded. “My thoughts as well. Now to tell Eleanor. She won’t be happy. Anything that delays her reunion with Raymond makes her very upset, and she doesn’t mind letting me know.”
Payen didn’t envy Louis’s mission. “Good luck.”
As the king left, Payen turned toward Catherine and the boys. “Jacques, we need to find five groups of people willing to comb the debris for anything we can use. Tools, pots and pans, swords, and clothing. Boots.”
“I can help,” Gaston said.
Payen noticed the exhaustion around the boy’s eyes and worried his illness might return.
“I want to.”
Catherine tightened her arm around the boy’s shoulders, but she didn’t say anything.
“Okay, but stay with Jacques,” he said. “I don’t want either of you in the river.”
“I would offer to sift through mud,” Catherine said, walking close to him. “I must see the queen. If she has no need of me, I will find you.”
“I understand.” Payen lowered his voice as they passed a group of knights gathering pieces of a wagon. “We lost a good portion of the caravan and supplies. Louis doesn’t want me to worry, which means he is worried.” Why am I sharing this? Because I want her to prepare for the worst. It took nothing away from the king.
“I shared a tent with the other ladies, and it is all gone. Everything I owned was swept away in the flood.”
He tapped the diamond pendant at her throat. “You have that.”
She jerked away. “The necklace is not mine. I thought you understood how important this is!”
Trying to get the unity back, Payen said, “I am sure Ragenard wouldn’t want you to starve to death. What about Gaston? Or the queen?”
She reeled backward as if he had slapped her. “You are cruel. This necklace belongs to the Clemont family, but both sons are dead. One directly because of me.”
“So you would rather suffer than use the only thing of value you have.”
“I would rather die than lose this necklace.” She quickly blinked tears away, her fists at her sides.
“That does not make any sense.” He crossed his arms. She showed passion for a dead man’s gift.
It was passion, however, that he admired about her. “My apologies, Catherine. I am trying to understand.”
She relaxed her posture. “I am sorry too. This necklace has been a burden but one I will amend.”
Though they each apologized, Payen felt the familiar rift between them. Would it always be him, her, and Ragenard?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Payen angled his stallion next to Catherine, who had Gaston riding in front, her arm wrapped around his waist for safety and, he imagined, comfort. Easy to imagine her with babes of her own. Preferably his, if they made it to Jerusalem alive. He studied the craggy mountains with plenty of cliffs for Turks to hide in. Before he had fought for honor; now he fought for love. He was thankful to have both.
“How is Gaston?” he said.
“Still coughing.” Catherine’s voice revealed her exhaustion. Three days of travel had worn at her robust health. “I don’t care if I ever see another mountain again.”
He ached to touch her, to reassure her. “King Louis is considering traveling by ship once we reach Attalia. We can sail instead of march to Antioch.”
She nodded, but her smile faltered.
They’d lost their supplies in the flood, and though the villagers had been kind and generous, they did not have much to share. Fish. Flat bread. The Turks kept pace with their caravan, shooting random arrows into the group if they could get close enough, which was irritating. It also kept the army from hunting.
Catherine’s cheekbones were stark, still bruised from escaping the flood. Everyone was hungry, and he knew Catherine had been giving her small share to Gaston.
Jacques refused any of her portion, insisting she eat the remainder. The boy was growing up to be a good man.
Gaston coughed, and Catherine turned sad eyes toward Payen. “Larissa losing her basket of medicine in the rain is worse than a growling tummy.”
“At least it isn’t raining now.” He winced at his own words.
The dry weather allowed the heathens easy access. The Turks knew every crevasse, stream, cave, or crag, and they were determined to make the Franks pay for fighting back at the corral in Ephesus.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is an awful situation. Gaston’s cough, starving, you almost dying. And the Turks are like fleas: pesky and hard to catch.”
Catherine’s shoulders shook, and he reached out to offer comfort. Her slow laugh penetrated his worried mind, and he dropped his hand to his thigh.
“What is so amusing?”
“You! That was funny: a flea in a turban. A green turban with a giant plume.”
Payen tried to understand. He’d been genuinely angry and allowed his temper to peek through his calm demeanor. And she laughed. Women. Non, Catherine.
Payen reined in his agitation by will alone as they followed the Maeander through the steep mountains. One of the Knight Templars said the river usually ran deep but was manageable, yet now it swelled, making it impossible to cross. The scout returned, his shoulders slumped and an arrow in his saddle.
“What are we going to do?” Catherine’s pale green eyes were pleading. “We can’t just wander the banks; they aren’t sturdy enough to hold the weight of all our soldiers and the carts. We should go back.”
“We can’t go back.” Dominus rode toward them, his posture and tone terse. “Gather now and follow me. The Turks have taken the mountain pass. We must hurry to make the plain before more heathens arrive. We will make a stand there.”
This was like no war Payen had ever fought. Give him siege engines and castles, cavalry and foot soldiers. This enemy used small groups to quickly attack and then retreat, never staying to fight. How was a man to defend against such a strategy? “Jacques, stay at my right. Catherine, go! Follow close to Dominus.”
She sat up and looked around. “The queen? She was right behind us, with Sarah and Jonathon.”
Dominus raised his sword. “Your other two women are with her. If you want to live to see them again, let’s go.”
Catherine nodded, turning to Payen.
He saw the love in her eyes and hoped she could see the same in his.
Shouting sounded from behind.
Payen urged his horse forward.
Turks closed in, firing iron arrows. Horses screamed. People shouted.
Payen leaned over his mount, ensuring Catherine was directly in front of him at all times.
Dominus knew fighting, as he did. Coordinating to fend off the enemy would give the Franks a chance to survive until Laodicea, half a day away.
Catherine’s hair flew out behind her, having tumbled free of the ill-fitting, brown leather helmet she’d foraged. Her cloak was too wet to billow, which meant extra layers of protection from arrows. His heart jumped every time one sang too close.
The Frankish soldiers wore mismatched equipment, but they were covered. Payen was proud as the men fought fearlessly against the heathen. They barreled through bushes and rock, dodged arrows, and occasionally fired back until they reached the plain, where the horses raced full-out.
The heavy snorts of his stallion sounded over the pounding of hooves.
Catherine’s mare stumbled, Payen’s heart stumbling right along with her. She righted herself and ran, and he breathed out.
“The king is already there with some of the carts. He must have found a shortcut through the mountains.” Dominus ordered over his shoulder, “Join ranks. Ride!”
Catherine held her sword high and summoned a war cry worthy of any goddess.
He passed her mare, noting his stallion’s heaving chest and spittle, but the animal would hold the distance.
Catherine met his eyes and grinned, her fatigue overcome by battle lust. “We are to keep Gaston safe at any cost. Louis fights at the rear guard. We will go directly to the queen at the front. Keep them away from our end of the caravan.”
“It’s a promise.” What wouldn’t he do for this woman? His chest swelled as he watched the lady warrior ride into battle. “Will you marry me, Catherine?”
She whipped around, long tendrils of dark hair flying around her face. “Are you crazed?”
“Oui. We will get out of this alive, all of us. Then you will marry me.” He nodded, not giving her time to argue.
Gaston, hanging on to the saddle with all his might, whooped his approval.
“You honor Ragenard,” he shouted, “but from now on, love me.”
An arrow flew between them, and her eyes widened. “Très bien. If we all come out of this in one piece, I will marry you, de Montfer. Now hurry and capture those Turks!”
Payen released his own battle cry and charged forward, Jacques at his rear left.
Catherine veered right, toward the vanguard.
Catherine joined Eleanor and the rest of the guard. The Frank infantry was ready with spears and swords. Aquitanian nobles waited and watched the battle atop their horses.
She dismounted, then reached out her hand to assist Gaston.
The boy looked at her, rolled his eyes, and jumped to the ground himself. Then he started coughing and couldn’t stop.
Larissa thumped him on the back.
“Sit. Drink this.” Catherine handed him a flask filled with water. “We have to hope Laodicea has grasshopper fungus.”
Eleanor clapped a hand on Catherine’s shoulder and squeezed. “We will find something.”
Mamie adjusted the quiver of arrows at her back, striding around the line and staring across the plain, then shielding her eyes toward the battle, which was by the foot of the mountains they’d just escaped. “I can’t see what is happening from here. We are far away, and”—she swept a hand toward the plain—“wide open.”
“W
e can clearly see the enemy before they reach us. There are no trees and bushes to hide behind now.” Sarah coughed, then held her waist and winced.
“Are you all right?” Fay said.
“I am looking forward to reaching Laodicea too.” Sarah studied the distant mountains.
Restless, Catherine stood, stretched her lower back, and gripped her sword. She was going to the front, to take stock of the battle. “Gaston, sit with Larissa. No arguments.”
“I know how to be a squire. I could ready your arrows or—”
“You can sit there with Larissa.” She stared down at him, not the least swayed by his brown eyes. No jesting. No wiggle room. No injuries to add to his cough.
“Catherine, I will come with you,” Mamie said.
The rear guard was closest to the mountains and the Turks. Some of the soldiers voiced their desire to go toward the battle as well, but their captain quickly reminded them that their duty was to the queen.
As was hers. “My liege?” Catherine looked to Eleanor for permission. The queen narrowed her eyes, and Catherine could tell she wanted to see the battle but could not. The monarchs rode at separate ends for a reason.
“Fine,” Eleanor said. “Hurry back with all the details. I would know the color of their turbans.”
Catherine and Mamie quickly mounted, riding past the Frank soldiers, who stayed alert for battle.
At about three-quarters of the way down the line, Catherine stopped Mamie. “Is that the king fighting with two Turks?” She squinted against the sun, knowing good and well that Payen would be at Louis’s side somewhere.
The familiar black stallion stormed through the heathens, scattering them for other soldiers to battle as Payen knocked back the two who had Louis pinned against a wagon.
A Turk with a huge plume flying upward from his red turban broke free of a small skirmish and ran across the top of the wagon, headed for Payen.
Payen was unaware of the danger as he fought the last heathen away from Louis.
“Oh no.” Catherine reached for her bow, quickly nocked an arrow, and balanced on her knees on the back of her mare. The horse, trained to be still while the ladies performed tricks, didn’t budge as she shifted. She drew back, the enemy in sight. “I don’t know”—she breathed out—“if I can hit him.” I will do what I must to protect the ones I love.